subtle violation …slow…building…bliss growling hand prints on my cheeks/ humming…wet…on Sunday morning/ you lick at my smudged bruised hips/ they whisper, welcome, come in…/ sick fuck fantasies of bloodied sting/ three tongued snakes and open veins/ this love is holy/ this love is sick/ it pines and bites as Devil’s grunt your name/ scorched meat from the depths of my mouth cavity/ swollen violent tongue send your eyes to space/ I come from wars, I don't come coy, you’ll end up shrapnel, gored and scathed-- gentle and chaste-- I’m colossal… our mouths look for treasures while we share our endeavors… this is love incarnate… I want us alone/ stripped, stained and fragile… fever body starts to drip a slow, heavy drip opens up old wounds deep, echoing wounds prone to infection, where silence cuts the vocal chords in purgatory/ left to fend for themselves and, oh god, poor thing, it just grew within itself, and extended into calloused skin/ into gut-wrenching bouts of septicity poor little pomegranate babies, milking themselves sick while the rest writhed in black quarters and hot soup poor little things, protesting over me like some sort of bad dream ...wake up. maya existence feeds you lightning I kiss you hoping to turn you into ash/ fractal patterns on your tongue/ the rolling thunder is a pause of cavernous muscles relaxing cause cruelty comes self-inflicted/ don’t stray into the future where time sends shivers down spines/ be like beasts live for the kill Bio: Ingrid is a Salvi refugee residing in Historic Filipinotown. Her work has been featured in Leste Mag, Electric Cereal, Drunk Monkeys, velvet-tail, amongst others…Her third full-length poetry book 'Zenith' is out now through Editions Du Cygne. She writes through guided ethos or some fleeting alien-hand syndrome and tries to make the jumbled mess in her head, into verse. She hopes it resonates. Comments are closed.
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December 2023
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